First Time I Saw Your Face
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Final Fantasy VII. Any similarities between persons living, deceased or otherwise is purely coincidental.
I sit at my desk, thinking as always. Not about mako rates or corporate policy anymore, the days of ShinRa are long gone. Besides, all that stopped the first time I saw your face.
It was eight years ago and my best friend, Tseng Masters, was taking me out to a bar in sector five to celebrate the first fully-functional model of Cait Sith. We were talking about who was better: Sephiroth, General of the ShinRa army, or Vincent Valentine, the founder of the Turks. We were both basically in favor of Valentine, having both seen him in action in our early childhood. We were crossing the front lobby when I caught a glimpse of your hair.
To this day I don't know why I stopped. I've seen many shapely blonds in my life, but I did stop.
You were wearing a short black skirt, a white long sleeve blouse, and black heels. Your gold locks curling at the jaw in a cute bob. You were applying for the Turks, but no one was taking you seriously. No one takes a woman as beautiful as you seriously.
Tseng looked pissed that I was just staring at the back of some strange woman's head when we only have an hour lunch break and every minute counted. I hadn't seen your face yet, but I knew that when I saw it you would be the cutest thing in the world to me.
"Reeve what the hell . . . ?" Tseng asked me. He smiled when he saw the look on my face. He later told me that I looked like a kid at Christmas getting an expensive toy. A toy he wanted but didn't dare expect. I don't know if that's true. I only know my motor skills were disabled, my eyes locked, and my damn throat dry as sandpaper. "My little kitty's grown up," Tseng teased me.
We weren't more than eight feet behind you as you stood before the receptionist. You heard us, of course you heard us. You turned around then and everything I knew about the world crashed. My inventions, my toys, all of it went onto a back shelf when I saw you. A button nose, sparkling burgundy eyes, and pink lips just begging to be kissed.
You looked at us like we were the biggest assholes you had ever seen until you noticed something. A uniform, a Turk uniform, Tseng's uniform.
"Hello," you said and held out a small hand to Tseng.
I might have been able to say something then. I might have been able to move had you looked at me, but you didn't. You only saw him. Tseng, my best friend since I was two years old. I couldn't speak, but I could see. I saw the interest in your perfect face. I could understand. All my life I was a little jealous of Tseng, not to want to hurt him but enough to wish I was him.
Tseng had long black hair tied back in a ponytail, six feet tall, muscular, black eyes, and enough charm oozing out his pores to put any star on Broadway to shame. I am five eleven, short black hair, a black goatee, brown eyes, boney as hell, and the social skills of any of my inventions. He was a Turk. I was the Head of Urban Development Department. Tseng Masters was a hired assassin. Reeve Darius Parker was a toy maker.
"Hello Miss..." Tseng asked politely.
"Elena," you smiled again, "Elena Bronte."
"Miss Bronte I am Tseng Masters and this is my good friend Reeve Parker," Tseng introduced us.
You politely held your hand out to me. I think I startled you by how fast I grabbed your hand. Your eyes widened, but you politely refused to comment on my possessive hold. Your hands were very soft and being so close I could smell you favorite perfume, Elizabeth Arden's Splendor. Splendor. An excellent term for what you are.
Tseng smirked and turned back to you, "I'm sorry Miss Bronte, but my friend and I were on our way to lunch. I look forward to seeing you again." Tseng did his little head nod and nearly dragged me to the door. You turned away, a wistful look on your face. If I believed for a second that it was me you would miss I'd have stayed. I'd have pulled away from Tseng and taken the entire day off just so I could hear you talk about your favorite things, where you're from, and why you wanted to be a Turk. Instead I left with a tight knot in my chest and stomach. I didn't need to be a genius to know who you would miss. I'd be lucky if you remembered me at all.
You became a security guard instead of a Turk, at least until Cloud, Tifa and Barret kicked the crap out of Reno. Then you were promoted. Tseng, Rude and Reno threw a congratulations party for you, in my apartment and with my money of course. I didn't mind. I didn't mind having sixty five Turks crammed into my apartment. I didn't mind having to break up fights. I didn't mind sixty five drunk Turks having to vomit from their hangovers in the morning into my one solitary bathroom.
Everything at the party was worth it when I saw you that night. You were wearing a blue dress down to your ankles with spaghetti straps and the same black heels. I wanted to dance with you, I really did. But Tseng asked first and I'm a bad dancer anyways.
I stood in the corner, watching you smile, hearing you laugh. Did you notice that there were lemon twisters and strawberry daiquiris? Did you notice that only Graem Revel played on the stereo? I learned that they are your favorites. I bribed the information out of Reno, all eight hundred gil worth.
I remember the day you found out I make toys. I made you promise not to tell, but you did. By lunch everyone was laughing about the Department Head who spent his time building toys and robots and living in a fantasy world. You didn't talk a lot to me anymore. Were you embarrassed to be seen with the fortune teller mecha builder?
We didn't really talk again until Tseng died. I found you crying in the parking lot. Did you mean to be by my car? That's where you were at any rate. Crying beside my black Lexus, tears streaming down your cheeks. I hated myself for noticing how the tears made your eyes sparkle and how close to you I was. How close to heaven I was.
"Why did this have to happen?" you asked me. It broke my heart to see you so sad.
I shook my head, fell down beside my car and pulled you close. I still remember how you nuzzled my neck and how your tears soaked into my shirt collar. For you I dropped my shields and let my tears fall so you would know you were not alone. We sat against my car until we both stopped crying.
As you stood up you looked at me and gave the first real smile you showed since his murder. "Thank you Mr. Parker," you said quietly and began to walk away. I grabbed your wrist. I didn't want you to leave.
"Reeve," I said hoarsely, "my name is Reeve. Just Reeve."
You appeared confused, then smiled and said, "Ok. Thank you Reeve."
My name never sounded better coming from your lips. You didn't have to tell me to call you Elena. Everyone already did. I watched you leave the parking lot, still sad but much better.
Now I sit at my desk, thinking of you as always. Cait Sith is turned off and sits idly in a corner. A corner I've stood in for far too long.
So I write this Elena and hope. Hope that you will read this letter. Hope that Cait Sith's fortune for his maker comes true. Hope that a toy maker can make you happy. Most importantly, I hope that I hear the words from your lips that have become a mantra for me every time I see your face.
I love you.
End of Chronicle